The Path More Traveled
by darkdaysofsummer
Summary: His biggest fear was that she was going down the same path he had. Four years ago, she'd brought back the self he thought he'd lost. Now, he would do the same for her-no matter what the cost. Discontinued.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Camp Rock. I do, however, own the song lyrics. **

**I've never written Camp Rock before, so this is new territory for me. Also, I'm going to apologize in advance if the song lyrics are bad. I've not written any sort of poetry in a while; I may be a little rusty. **

**BTW, this takes place after the movies. Shane is twenty-two and Mitchie is nineteen. **

_Chapter 1: New Times _

Shane nursed the mix of vodka and soda in his hand. The alcohol burned slightly on its way down his throat and he winced. He glanced at the clock hanging on the wall across from him. Seven minutes to midnight. Mitchie had left at eight thirty, and if this night was like the others, it'd be at least two before she came back.

Shane took another swallow of his drink and settled himself into a more comfortable position on the U-shaped, black leather couch. He loved the apartment he and Mitchie had bought together three months ago. The entire twenty-third floor of the building on the corner of East 68th Street and Park Avenue was all theirs.

Upon exiting the elevator and passing through the double doors, one entered the foyer with its porcelain tile floors and crystal chandelier. To the right was a comfortable family room/ office with the thirty-six inch flat screen TV mounted on the wall. Straight from the foyer was the living room Shane now sat in with its couch backed against the curved wall of windows, a black grand piano standing in the center, and beyond that, wood-paneled walls with numerous awards and pictures covering it.

To the left of the foyer was the kitchen, with its stainless steel, designer appliances and hardwood floors. A hallway led into the two bedroom suites, each with a walk-in closet and luxurious bathroom. (Naturally, Mitchie had the larger bedroom, because it had the larger closet and bath.)

All in all, it was a wonderful place to live. When they first moved in, Shane imagined spending time with Mitchie, writing music at the piano, snuggling up on the couch to watch movies, maybe, possibly, even raise their children here, assuming they ever had any.

The apartment only covered two-thousand square feet of the floor. The rest was divided into a lounge area, useful for when they hosted parties, and a private recording studio.

Shane had just finished his drink and put his glass in the dishwasher, when he heard a key in the lock. Surprising, he thought. It was just past midnight, early for Mitchie to be home. Still, in she came.

Shane had quit doing double takes at her appearance months ago. She didn't quite resemble the shy, innocent girl he'd met at Camp Rock four years prior. She'd grown a few inches taller, though most of her height was now credited to the three-inch heels on her leather boots. Her hair was no longer straight and brown; instead it was pure black, falling over her shoulder in waves, her eyes mysteriously veiled by side-swept bangs. Her soft brown eyes were thickly lined; her eyelids covered in blue glitter. There was a pink flush to her cheeks and her lips glinted a deep red. She wore a rough leather jacket over a navy blue dress that barely touched her thighs, with fishnet stocking tights, ripped at the knees, underneath. Topping off the look were fingerless black gloves and a thick assortment of metallic necklaces and bracelets on both wrists. The jewelry jingled and her heels clicked on the tile floor as she made her way into the apartment.

"Hey" Shane greeted her. "You're home early."

"Yeah. Rough night. I'm going to bed. I'm exhausted." With a simple wave of her hand, she made her way down the hall to her room.

Shane resisted the urge to question her about her night. He was her boyfriend, not her father. But Mitchie's transformation over the past year, and her sudden rise to stardom, left him worried.

Shane had helped jump start her career, by mentioning her around Connect 3's label, Silverstone Records. She'd sent in a four-track demo before she even finished high school, and literally days after graduating, flew out to New York to meet with the executives. They loved her voice and her personality and claimed she was "what they'd been waiting for". Magically overnight it seemed, her career was launched.

Her first single "Me, Myself, and I" became a huge hit. It spent three weeks at the top of the _Billboard _charts, and within two months, had over 500,000 downloads on iTunes. Her solo album carried the same name and went platinum within a few months of its release. A major US tour was carried out that same year, covering forty-five cities in just five weeks. Her sophomore album was now being finished, the first single set to be released in a few weeks, and a _world_ tour planned for next year. It was a massive amount to adjust to and Shane's biggest fear was that Mitchie was going down the same path he had. She was out almost every night, partying with friends, regardless of whether something was planned the next day. Multiple times, she'd shown up to photo shoots, interviews, and recordings with heavy dark circles under her eyes.

He knew she'd do the same thing tonight as she did on the other nights she was out partying: she'd go into her room, hopefully take off her shoes, swallow a sleeping pill, and pass out on her bed without even bothering to get under the sheets. She'd stay there for a solid eight hours at least, unless Shane came in and forced her up. Many mornings she'd swallow an aspirin for breakfast with a cup of coffee, take a quick shower, and be out the door.

Her appearance had changed even more than just clothes and hair. She was thinner than she'd been just a year ago; Shane wasn't exactly keeping track of her weight, but he'd noticed her arms and legs seemed bonier and her waist was definitely smaller. Her attitude was different as well; he missed the Mitchie from Camp Rock. This girl was moody, tired, and diva-ish. It was exhausting just to watch.

So it seemed natural for Shane to worry about her. He'd done the whole rock-and-roll-party before and he'd suffered the consequences. He didn't want her going down the same path.

**So I know this is short, but it's just the first chapter. Like I said, I've never written **_**Camp Rock**_** before, so please let me know how I'm doing. I appreciate it. **

**Also, a little while ago, tornados ravaged the Midwest, especially in areas of Kentucky and Indiana. People have been injured and entire towns have been wiped off the map. One of my good friends, and fellow fanfiction writer, harronhermy, had her entire town destroyed. I ask that you please keep these people in your thoughts and/or prayers while they try to rebuild their homes and lives. Thank you. **


	2. Chapter 2

**I don't own Camp Rock. I do own all the OCs and song lyrics. **

**Please note this story is rated T for language, sensuality, and reference to sex, alcohol, and possibly drugs. If you feel the rating should go up to M, please let me know. It may change if I, or enough readers, feel it should. **

_Chapter 2_

"What?" Mitchie groaned into her pillow.

"It's after nine, love. Time to get up." Shane always spoke to her in the Australian accent when he wanted her to do something. She had told him she "found it sexy".

Mitchie moaned and reached over to switch off the bedside lamp Shane had just turned on. "No, my head hurts. Go away."

"Mitchie." She rolled over to face away from him. "_Michelle_" he said sternly, dropping the accent. He hated when he had to act like this; it was times like these when he felt he had to play the bad guy or act more like an older brother or dad than boyfriend. It was just…weird to think about, and he hated having to do it.

When Mitchie still did not get up, he grabbed the sheets and ripped them off the bed. Still nothing. Resigned, he went into the kitchen for a glass of water, then returned to the room…and dumped it on her head.

Mitchie screeched loud enough to wake the dead. "What the hell, Shane?" She sat up sputtering.

"Oh good, you're up."

"I hate you." she said looking down at her now drenched outfit from last night. The liner and mascara around her eyes was smudged and she hadn't even taken her shoes off.

Shane sighed. "Maria's told you; you're going to rip up the sheets with your shoes on." Maria was their housekeeper. She came in once a week to clean the place and kept an eye on it when they were both away.

Mitchie muttered something unintelligible as she made her way into her bathroom, ripping off soaked clothing. She tossed the wet clothes over the tub's side. Then she turned around and came back into the bedroom with only her undergarments on. Water had even soaked through the bra, making her breasts visible, but she either didn't notice or didn't care.

"What's wrong with you?" she snapped, hands on her hips. "I was asleep and you think its okay to just dump water on me? That's rude!"

"Mitchie, it's nine-thirty. It won't kill you to get up at a reasonable hour."

"I told you I wasn't feeling good when I got home last night! Why wouldn't you let me sleep?"

"No, you said you were exhausted. But you said nothing about being sick. There's a difference. Besides, don't you have a meeting with Ian at ten-thirty today?"

No sooner than the words left his mouth, Mitchie's phone began blaring. The name of Ian Carlson, Mitchie's producer, flashed on the screen.

She ignored Shane and made a dive for the phone. "Hello...Fine…Yeah, okay…bye."

Shooting a glare at Shane that could have put him in a coffin, she dropped the phone on her bed and made a mad dash for the bathroom.

Forty minutes later she was rushing out of the apartment. Hopefully, traffic wasn't too bad. Who was she kidding? This was freakin' New York City. She paused long enough to read the note taped to the door.

_Mitchie, I'm in the studio with Nate and Jason. See you later, sweetheart. Love you. Shane _

Mitchie glanced at the clock. Only twenty minutes. Groaning, she grabbed her keys and bolted out the door.

00000000000000000

_Back, in the good old days _

_You and I were _

Were what? Shane growled and threw down the pencil. He'd come up with an awesome guitar part last night and it felt like a song. There were words rolling around in his head but they were all jumbled together and nothing made sense.

_Back, in the good old days _

_You and I were runnin' wild _

_We couldn't be tamed. _

Maybe. It didn't quite feel right but he'd learned from experience to never toss out an idea; instead, save it. You never knew when inspiration would strike and those God-awful lyrics you wrote two years ago could suddenly be turned into a masterpiece.

Shane strummed the electric guitar on his lap, feeling the vibrations run through his body and the chords come pulsing out of the amp next to him. He definitely liked the music. It had an 80s heavy metal-vibe to it and he envisioned the lyrics being a bit rough, with emotion scratching at the surface.

The music was interrupted by the sound of the squeaking door as Jason swept into the room, arms laden with bags of donuts and coffee. Nate came behind at a calmer pace, carrying a guitar case in one hand and drumsticks in the other.

"Hey, buddy" greeted Jason cheerfully, as he dumped breakfast on the table in front of them. The sugary-sweet smell of donuts and the warm aroma of coffee filled the room.

Shane returned the greeting to his friends and grabbed his coffee-a tall, mocha-flavored frappachino with lots of cream on top; Jason knew him so well- and a jelly donut. Between bites, he told them about the song idea he'd come up with and Nate, sipping at his hot chocolate (he never drank coffee) chipped in about a drum solo he created, and maybe they could work them together?

They did this once a week, this ritual of breakfast and band meetings in the morning. Every week they took turns getting breakfast and met in the studio/loft where they talked about their latest ideas. Afterwards they'd set up and actually try playing some of the stuff. It had seemed random when they first started, but now it was a comfortable ritual.

Nate cleared away the last of the breakfast when they finished eating and grabbed his drumsticks in excitement. "So," he said, standing before them, "who's ready to start rocking?"

Shane gave a questioning look and Jason snickered. "He was with _Pamela_ last night" Jason whispered to Shane. "So, now he's all lovey-dovey."

Shane groaned. It was typical of Nate to act strangely whenever he developed a new crush or relationship. It was no longer weird for them after their years as friends; at least, not always.

Shane looked at Nate, who was still standing there like a dog expecting a treat, and back to Jason. "Well", he sighed, "as long as he's happy."

00000000000000000

Mitchie's day started out bad and got worse. She had just enough time to get to Ian's when she left. But as soon as she stepped outside, a group of fans, all school-age girls, swarmed around her, begging for autographs. She was in no position to say no, seeing as they had surrounded her, so she spent ten minutes of her ticking time signing the pieces of paper they shoved at her.

She finally got on her way, but was starving, as she hadn't had time to have breakfast. So she had the driver stop at a café on the way, where she ordered a cappuccino for herself and plain coffee for her driver, knowing that he liked it, as well as a few blueberry muffins. The café was crowed though, and so was the street. By the time she got into the store, ordered, paid for, and received her food, and they got back on their way, it was half an hour later.

"I'm sorry, Ian" Mitchie said as she strolled into his office, an hour late. "I got swamped by a group of girls wanting autographs."

"Ah, no big deal. The people love you, Mitchie", Ian grinned and spun around in his chair. In was in his late thirties, bald, and with glasses, but he still commanded an expensive, I-am-a-person-of-importance-look. Rings flashed on his fingers as he gestured to the seat in front of him.

"Rachel, bring coffee up here immediately. My usual and Miss Torres'" Ian spoke into the intercom to his secretary.

"Right away, sir" came the voice from the other end.

"So, what did you want to me with me about?" Mitchie asked as she settled into the chair offered.

"You're upcoming tour. Get this-twenty-five countries on five continents, North America, South America, Europe, and Australia -and all in six months!"

"Wow, that's a lot. But my tour isn't until next year."

"Yeah, but these things take time to plan. And I'm going to make sure you get the best possible-5-star hotels, caviar, a personal stylist to take care of your wardrobe, a _private jet_."

Mitchie squealed with excitement and wiggled in her seat. "Are you serious? I'm going to have my own private jet!"

Ian gestured lazily. "Well of course. How else do you expect to travel around the world?"

"Oh my gosh, oh my _gosh_! I can't wait to tell Shane!"

"Yeah, whatever. Anyway, babe, I wanna know what else you want. Anything, you name it. You're my star, my pop princess. I want to make sure you're comfortable."

0000000000000000000000

Mitchie left Ian's several hours later. She'd made a list of requirements for her tour. Ian had talked her into some things, like Swedish caviar and crackers, with sparkling grape juice to be served to her before every concert, to fresh banana cream pie (her favorite), hot dogs (all beef, on white buns, with ketchup only), to be served afterwards. She was also going to have her own personal masseur, manicurist to do her nails, and maid to take care of her while on tour.

There were some slightly more outrageous things too, like a silver bowl of M&Ms, red and green only, to always be available in her dressing room, a mud bath every three weeks, even a Yorkie puppy, with its own staff, to be brought on tour with her to keep her company.

When Mitchie had signed her record deal, Ian had promised to care for her and give her everything she wanted and deserved. He made sure she always had a closetful of designer clothes, the best guitars and pianos available for her concerts, the finest foods, and that she had access to the hottest parties and clubs in town.

She was living the rock star life. She had a black Lincoln town car and driver to escort her wherever she needed to go, she shared a penthouse with her rock star boyfriend, wore designer clothes in the latest fashions, went to the coolest parties, hung out with celebrities, singers, actors, heirs to huge fortunes-you name it. She had a life most people couldn't even dream of. The world was at her fingertips.

Mitchie now decided she needed new clothes for her tour and headed downtown. While there were plenty of stores up along Fifth Avenue, some of the best places to shop were in the lofts downtown. Sample sales were so much fun. The lines to get in were long, but it was always worth it. Tons of designer merchandise, all at marked down prices.

Mitchie strolled into one such sale an hour after it had started. She examined the dozens of tops, the amazing jeans, the piles of shoes. After wandering around for an hour, she gathered up her merchandise and headed to the register. The line was so long it took an hour to reach, and she browsed some of the other merchandise along the way.

At the register, a woman began ringing up her purchases: three pairs of jeans: 2 Hudson 7's and a Rock and Republics, Gucci sunglasses, three purses: Chanel and two Marc Jacobs, two silk camisoles and a Lacoste polo, a cashmere sweater and a fitted blazer, two black Burberry trench coats, and fourteen pairs of shoes, Gucci stilettos, Jimmy Choo sandals, and five pairs of boots, four sneakers, and three heels, all Ralph Lauren.

"$978" the woman at the register said. Mitchie smiled and handed the woman her card. Sure, it was a lot of money for clothes and shoes, but she knew if she had paid full retail price for all of this it would have cost over $5000.

Mitchie gathered up her bags, all an inconspicuous black, and informed the driver to return home.

Back at the apartment, Mitchie headed straight to her room, removed her heeled boots, and began going through her closet, making rooms for the newest additions.

She'd never actually gone through and checked, but she estimated she had over $30,000 worth of clothes and shoes. Her walk-in closet was stuffed full of sundresses, jeans, tops, cashmere sweaters, leather jackets, heels, boots, everything. But she had always loved clothes and dressing up, her style clearly more edgy and grown-up than it had been a few years ago.

Four years ago, her typical plain jeans, no-brand shirts, boots or sneakers, and costume jewelry was comfortable for her, but now it seemed so boring. Why would she want to wear something so simple when she could wear a silk Chanel dress or Christian Louboutin heels studded with actual crystals?

The key in the lock interrupted her thoughts and she heard Shane come in. Still in good mood, she went out, feeling like she was floating, to greet him.

Mitchie smiled and gave him a kiss. "How was your day?" she asked sweetly.

Shane raised an eyebrow. "Fine" he said slowly. "You seem awfully chipper. Had a good day?"

Mitchie headed into the kitchen. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I did. I got things arranged for my tour and I bought some new clothes for it."

Shane sat down on one of the barstools. "I thought your tour wasn't until next year."

"It's not, but I need to be prepared, don't I?"

"So…how much'd you spend?"

Mitchie cringed, knowing how he was going to react when she told him. "Well, I got a good deal on stuff. Really good deals."

"How much?"

Mitchie took a breath. "It was less than a thousand dollars. 978 to be exact."

Shane's jaw dropped. "Nine-Mitchie how can spend that much on clothes _in one day_!"

"It was _my_ money, Shane! I earned it and I can spend it however I want. I'm a grownup and you're my boyfriend, not my dad. You can't tell me what to do."

"I'm not telling you anything. I'm just asking 'How can you spend that much?'!

Mitchie shrugged. "I still got really good deals. Next time I'll get you something. Then maybe you won't be so crabby."

With that, she walked into her room and shut the door, leaving Shane to stammer after her.


	3. Chapter 3

Shane hissed in frustration as Mitchie left the room. He stalked back into the living room and sat down with a guitar. Whenever he was frustrated, he tried to write. It helped clear his head.

Words can surprisingly quickly and within twenty minutes he had words pinned down. Slow at first, then a harder metal-edge in the chorus, slower for the second first, even slower during the bridge, then stretched out and at its loudest point for the final chorus before a slow ending. For such a quickly written song, he liked it. Of course, he might hate it come tomorrow morning, but still, he'd written something.

_Thought I was helping you _

_But you only helped yourself _

_You saw my pain _

_I healed your loneliness _

_Brought out what was meant to be _

_At least that's what I believed…_

_I ripped through you _

_Thought I knew you _

_Now there's nothing left to say _

_Now it's over _

_And I've told you _

_That all that's left is for you _

_To change _

_Stuck in your own world _

_And it's clear I'm not welcome there _

_I used to be your world _

_And I hate that I have to care _

_I ripped through you _

_Thought I knew you _

_Now there's nothing left to say _

_Now it's over _

_And I've told you _

_That all that's left is for you _

_To change _

_Maybe someday we can go back to the way it was before _

_But 'til I hear you say "I'll change" and mean it _

_There's no hope _

_I ripped through you _

_Thought I knew you _

_Now there's nothing left to say _

_Now it's over _

_And I've told you _

_That all that's left is for you _

_To change _

_Change _

_Baby change for you, for me _

_Please _

Mitchie listened through her closed door to the sound of Shane's singing. It was a new song; one she'd never heard before and wished not to hear again. It was about her. He thought she was a different person and he didn't like it. But why? She loved him and she thought he loved her. They'd been happy together. She changed her appearance to fit her rock star image, as Ian and her publicist and everyone encouraged her to do. People loved how she was so why didn't Shane? She was his girlfriend; he was supposed to love her!

Her cell phone rang, interrupting her thoughts. She snatched it out of her bag. "Hello?"

"Hey, Mitchie!" It was Tanya, a girl Mitchie had befriended when she came to New York. Tanya's father was a media tycoon and her mother an Upper East Side socialite, so Tanya was used to living a glamorous life. She and Mitchie had met at a launch party for a magazine they had both modeled for.

"Did you hear?" Tanya asked. "There's a super-cool party going on down in the Lower East Side. Everybody who's anybody is there! I know we can get in! Do you want to go?"

"Of course!" Mitchie squealed. She loved parties. "Do you suppose I could bring Shane? I think he needs to get out; he's been all crabby lately."

Tanya giggled. "Of course you can bring him. God, he's yummy…"

"Tanya, he's mine!"

There was more giggling from the other end. "Yeah, I know. I'll text you the address. Meet you there in twenty?"

It was Mitchie's turn to laugh. "It's going to take me that long to choose an outfit! We'll just meet you outside."

00000000000000

It took Mitchie _forty_ minutes to pick out an outfit and convince Shane to come with her. He stuck with what he'd been wearing: comfortable jeans, Converse, and a black T-shirt. Mitchie went more dressed up; she wore a black thigh-length satin dress with sequins along the sweetheart neckline, three-inch metallic black heels, lace tights, and a short leather jacket. She left her hair down and smeared on some silver shimmery eye shadow and extra-length mascara, with just a touch of red lipstick.

She admired herself in her full-length mirror. She looked good. No, she looked hot, sexy. Even Shane would take notice of her in this.

It took another twenty minutes to get a cab and get down to where the party was held. Tanya was standing outside the door in a strapless bright yellow dress in a style similar to Mitchie's. Her massive gold hoop earrings flashed as she shook her head and laughed. She was talking to a couple of guys in Armani jackets who wear smoking cigarettes.

Tanya squealed when she saw them and ran over to hug Mitchie, as if they hadn't seen each other in years. "Oh my God, it took you long enough! But you look fantastic! C'mon let's go".

The burly bouncer let them in no questions asked, perks of being a celebrity Mitchie thought.

The party was fantastic; lights glimmered everywhere and cast exquisite shadows along the walls. A Pitbull song was blaring out of massive speakers. There were dozens of leather couches to lounge on and a full bar, as well as waiters walking around offering colorful drinks and hors d'oeuvres.

The girls raced off to the dance floor, whereas Shane sighed and retreated to one of the leather couches, ordered a drink, and engaged in a conversation with another equally-successful-and-bored-looking musician.

Mitchie and Tanya snagged a couple of Cosmopolitans and drank them while chatting with the two guys Tanya had been talking with earlier. Their names were Brent and Michael, but Mitchie wouldn't remember that later. They were both Abercrombie models and Brent was modeling to pay his way through law school.

They danced together through a few songs, and when the Cosmos were gone they grabbed some champagne flutes. No one noticed they weren't old enough to drink, or they did notice but didn't dare say anything. Mitchie was the big thing in music right now and everyone knew how rich and influential Tanya's parents were. No one in their right mind challenged her father with anything.

Mitchie was feeling the buzz of the alcohol as "Like a G6" by Far East Movement came on. She giggled at the lyrics and danced around, grabbing Tanya's shoulder to keep herself from falling.

As the night wore on, they retreated to a more private corner and settled on one of the leather couches. Tanya started making out with Brent, her tongue diving down his throat while her groped her breasts. Michael looked at Mitchie and moved closer to her. He put his arm around her.

"What 'r you doin'?" Mitchie slurred, the alcohol making her words come out fuzzy.

Michael pulled her a little closer until she nearly fell in his lap. "You're so hot" he said. "You wanna go somewhere?"

Mitchie pushed him away. "I…have a…boyfriend" she said slowly.

Michael began to nuzzle her neck. "So?" he purred. He began to kiss and nibble on her neck. "I don't see anyone's name on you. And you look so good. You sure you don't wanna go back to mine?"

Mitchie stood up, a little unsteady. High heels and drunkenness didn't go together. She held up a finger. "No," she said as firmly as she could. "I want to stay here."

Michael laughed. "Like your song. _I'm gonna stay in this club all night and just party away. I'm not ready to go._" His singing voice was terrible, and Mitchie winced.

"Okay," he was saying. "We don't have to go anywhere. We can hang here."

Mitchie looked around. Tanya and Brent had disappeared and she didn't see Shane in the crowd.

"Okay. We can hang here."

Michael settled himself on the couch and snapped his fingers for the waitress to bring a couple bottles of wine. He took one for himself and handed the other to her.

Mitchie took a swig the alcohol. It was dry and tasted like raspberries, but wasn't too strong.

"You wanna dance?" she shouted over a hip-hop song.

"You dance for me!" Michael said.

So Mitchie did. She shrugged off her jacket, held the bottle of wine in one hand, and danced. She danced in front of Michael, swung around a pole, slid up and down it. She dropped the bottle, causing it to break and red liquid to spill over the tile floor, but neither of them noticed.

Mitchie crawled into his lap and danced. She rubbed her body against his. "You know," she said, her drunkenness even more obvious, "my boyfriend is no fun. He never wants to go out or do anything. He's _so_ boring."

"Am I boring?" growled Michael in her eye.

Mitchie giggled. "Mmm, no. You're fun. I've had fun with you."

"Have you ever seen the upstairs of this building? It's nice."

Mitchie was shaking her head, black hair falling in her face. "Nope."

Michael stood up, and pulled her to her feet. "Come see it with me."

She was giggling uncontrollably now. "I bet that's where Tanya and your friend went."

"Yeah, probably."

He took her hand and led her to the back of the building, to a metal staircase with lights wrapped around the railing. It was impossible to see what was upstairs.

Mitchie took a drink from a martini glass she'd stolen on the way over. She had no idea what the orange and pink mixture inside was, just that it tasted fruity and had some sort of alcohol, vodka maybe, in it.

Michael started to lead her upstairs. Mitchie stumbled behind him.

He led her down a dark hallway into a room about halfway down. Inside the room, he switched on the overhead lamp and shut the door. It was a storage room with extra furniture in it.

Mitchie looked around the room, trying to figure out her surroundings in the half-light, when Michael pushed her down onto a plastic covered couch.

"What are you doing?" Mitchie shouted as he reached behind her to unzip her dress.

Michael pressed his hard body against hers and kissed her face. "What? I'm not hurting you. I thought you wanted this."

Mitchie squirmed underneath him, intoxicated, confused, and even though she wasn't sober, a little scared.

"I told you I have a boyfriend!"

"And he's not here."

"Actually, he is. And you'd better get the f*** off my girlfriend if you still want to call yourself a man tomorrow."

They both looked towards the door. Shane was standing there, arms folded across his chest, looking more furious than Mitchie had even seen him.

She stole a glance at Michael, who was still on top of her, trying to figure out Shane's threat.

Shane lunged forward, and with a strength and speed that surprised them both, he shoved Michael away and grabbed Mitchie. Without a word he dragged her down the hall. She staggered after him and when they reached the stairs, he picked her up in his arms and carried her down them. Mitchie wiggled in his grasp, shouting at him to let her go.

Shane didn't put her down until they were outside and he was placing her in a cab. He climbed in behind her and gave the driver their address.

Mitchie leaned back in her seat as the car sped through the city streets. A pouting look formed on her face. "Why'd we leave?" she asked in a whining voice. "I was having fun."

Shane twisted around to glare at her. "You were-Mitchie do you have any idea what happened? Do you know what would have happened if I hadn't come when I did?"

"We didn't do anything."

"You…" Shane started to snarl. "Never mind. You won't even remember this conversation tomorrow."

Mitchie started to protest, then banged on the window for the driver to pull over. When he did, she leaned over and heaved the contents of her stomach onto the sidewalk. Behind her, she heard Shane sigh in annoyance.

Shane was pinching the brow of his nose while Mitchie wiped her mouth. _This_ was why he didn't go party with her.

But after what happened tonight, how could he trust her to go alone?

**Phew! Wow, this chapter ended up being a bit darker than I intended. I didn't plan for things to go that far between Mitchie and Michael, but the story just started writing itself. **


	4. Chapter 4

It was quarter to three as Shane carried Mitchie into their apartment. She'd passed out and fallen asleep in the cab after throwing up. Shane somehow managed to unlock the door while still holding her. He went straight into her bedroom, tossed her purse and jacket (which he'd found; luckily, nothing was missing from her purse) on a chair, and laid her on the bed. He pulled off her heels and put them in the closet and pulled the sheets over her. Mitchie stirred, but didn't wake.

With her in bed, Shane headed for his own room. He threw himself down face-first on the bed and groaned. What was he going to do with her? Tonight was horrible. She could have been- he stopped himself from finishing that thought. It hadn't happened. At worst, Mitchie would have a hangover tomorrow morning and be crabby.

Shane groaned again as he rolled over and yanked off his shoes. He was crabby now. And tired, and frustrated. He got up, went to the bathroom to splash water on his face and brush his teeth, then crawled into bed. He needed sleep if he was going to face tomorrow.

0000000000000

Not surprisingly, Mitchie was still in bed when Shane got up the next morning. He shrugged and went to get the paper that was always left sitting in front of the door on Sundays. He flipped through it while the coffee was being made. A picture and headline caught his attention.

**Bitchy Mitchie Goes Overboard at Party **

Beneath the headline, was a blurry picture of Mitchie screeching in protest as Shane carried her out of the club. There was another picture (which he was horrified to see) of her swinging around a pole with a bottle in her hand, while that scumbag from last night watched in the background.

The article was brief, talking about how "pop princess, Michelle Torres, better known as 'Mitchie' was seen at a party held downtown at the new club JC's on Saturday night. She was reported to have been drinking, despite being only nineteen, and some allegedly claim she was giving a C-list male model a lap dance. …She was later spotted being carried out of the club by her boyfriend, twenty-two-year old musician of the band Connect 3, Shane Gray. Mitchie was very vocal about Shane's actions, demanding he put her down. They were last seen getting in a cab and heading uptown."

Shane sighed as he threw the paper down on the island and poured himself a cup of coffee. Great. This was not the kind of publicity they needed. He knew he'd had his bad moments too, but it was mostly due to attitude. He'd never been staggering drunk to where he couldn't walk.

And Mitchie wasn't even old enough to drink! True, he'd done it on occasion, but never in public! She hadn't thought at all; she just partied. Her lifestyle was getting out of hand. A thousand dollars thrown away on clothes that probably wouldn't be worn for a while, if ever, yesterday and now this. He was afraid to think about what might happen today.

It was after ten before Mitchie stumbled into the kitchen, bleary-eyed with smudged make-up, and still in the dress she wore last night.

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty" Shane said from the living room where he was watching the morning news.

Mitchie groaned in response and poured a large mug of coffee. She added two scoops of sugar and poured in mocha-flavored creamer, stirring it all with a spoon. She sat down at the table and sipped at her coffee.

"There's an interesting article on the second page" Shane said casually, gesturing to where the paper was.

Mitchie stared at him, then peeled the paper apart. Shane watched her face as she read over the article. There was no visible emotion of her face, save for a twitch of her lip. She finished reading, sighed, and stood up with her coffee mug.

"I'm going to take a shower" she announced.

Shane nodded like he'd heard her. But as he saw he walk away, he noticed her head was down, as if in defeat.

000000000000000

It was around one when the doorbell rang. Shane knew who it was before he even opened the door.

Jaime, his ten-year-old half brother bounded into the apartment, along with his bulldog puppy, Willis.

"Hey Shane!" he shouted. "I heard you and Mitchie had an adventure last night!"

Shane sighed. "Yeah, buddy, you could say that. Why don't you put your bag in my room? And try to be quiet; Mitchie's asleep."

"Okay." He raced off down the hall, puppy at his heels.

Mitchie had gone back to bed after her shower, claiming she didn't feel well. An hour ago, she'd gotten up and managed a bit of lunch, before retreating back to her room. That's what she got for drinking herself into oblivion last night.

Shane trudged down the hall to his room, where Jaime was sitting on the bed, petting Willis.

"Sooooo?" Jaime held the word out, signaling he wanted to ask something, but wasn't sure if he should.

'What?"

"Whatwereyouan'Mitchiedoin'lastnight?" Jaime asked in a rush. "I mean, I saw you guys in the paper, I mean, I didn't but grandma did 'cause I don't read the paper,-who does?-and she pointed it out. And I told her I would ask her 'bout it, so…what were you in Mitchie doing last night? Is sure hurt, 'cause you were carrying her and-?"

Shane held up his hand to cut off his brother's questions. Jaime could talk anyone to death if you gave him a chance.

"It's complicated buddy. I don't really know how to explain it. Anyway, don't worry about it. It's over; not a big deal." Those last words were more to reassure himself. "And you're here to hang out with me, remember?"

Shane and Jaime had the same father, but different mothers. Jaime had never really been raised by his parents. When Shane was twelve and Jaime had just been born, Jaime's mother had been placed in rehab. She'd been a recovering drug addict, but had started going back to it before she got pregnant with Jaime. Jaime was suspected of having ADHD, due to his energetic nature, but Shane suspected half the kids with ADHD were simply hyper ones, but not actually affected with it. It seemed everybody nowadays had some sort of illness or disorder. Luckily, Jaime didn't seem to have developed any damage from his mother's drug use. But she'd been in and out of rehab for years, so Jaime rarely, if ever, saw her.

Jaime had gone into foster care and had transferred through so many homes in such a short time. His maternal grandmother finally came from Utah to New York to raise him herself. But over the past couple of years, her health had gotten bad. She had emphysema and needed an oxygen tank. Shane had wanted to get custody of his brother ever since he'd turned eighteen, but the courts always refused him. Finally, last year, they relented, and Shane had split custody with Jaime's grandmother. Jaime spent a couple weeks every with him and several holidays, with the schedule usually altered by Shane's work schedule, or perhaps the other way around.

Still, Shane thought as he helped Jaime unpack, how long would it be until he became Jaime's full time guardian? Grammy Jen, as they called her, hadn't looked so good the last time he'd seen her and Shane was worried. There was no way in hell he'd let his brother be sent back to foster homes.

"Can we go see Dad today?" Jaime asked, interrupting his thoughts.

Their father, Jonathan Gray, had been staying at a hospital in Brooklyn. For eight years, up until about two years ago, Shane had been estranged from his father for personal reasons. But he'd finally decided to be the bigger person and get in contact with him again and good thing, too.

Jonathan had a past as a serious alcoholic and had been diagnosed with cirrhosis of the liver. He was in desperate need a liver transplant, but no suitable donor was available. The eldest Mr. Gray was also in the beginning stages of lung cancer. Shane had been afraid to tell Jaime, but he knew Dad didn't have much time left.

They left a note of the table for Mitchie, when she got up, informing her where they'd gone. It was a familiar routine they'd developed, the trip into Brooklyn to see Dad. Shane had offered to have him moved to a better, closer hospital in Manhattan, but he'd refused. He'd been born and raised in Brooklyn, same as Shane, and if, or when, he died, that was where he wanted to be.

When the cab dropped them off in front of the hospital, they jumped out and headed inside. Their father was on the fourth floor, in a small room at the end of the hall.

Jonathan Gray was only in his mid-forties, actually, but he looked much older. His originally thick, dark hair had become thin and had lots of gray streaked in it. His face was ash-colored and weathered from the years and from illness.

He looked up from his chair when he heard them come in and gave a weak smile. "Hi, guys." Even his voice sounded like it belonged to an older man; it was deep, but weak, and raspy.

Jaime ran over for a hug, while Shane hung back, hands in his pockets. He nodded. "Sir."

Even after reconciling, there was still _something_ between them. A dozen years of pain and sorrow and lies didn't evaporate overnight. Things had happened, things that had shaped Shane's life forever, marking him. Things that deep down, he couldn't let go of, couldn't forgive.

Still, the sight of a dying middle-aged man hugging his youngest son, asking him about school, and his friends, and his dog, it was all touching. Jonathan had claimed to have seen the error of his ways, asked forgiveness from his sons, claimed he wanted to use what time he had left to be a better father, a better person. Shane couldn't blame him for that. He knew what it was like to hurt people you cared about and to be hurt by them. All too well.

Still, Shane couldn't erase the fear that his father's mistakes would become his own. He'd read enough about alcoholism to know…And, what if he hurt Mitchie? Or Jaime? What if one day he just…snapped?

Shane shuddered despite the warm room and felt the wave fear drowning him. _Will this be me in twenty years? _

**Sorry it's short. But short is better than nothing. **

**Yes, there will be more elaboration on the Gray family's past later on. But I'll warn you, it's not pretty. **


End file.
